When Your Writing Flatlines.

Out of body experienceImage via Wikipedia.


Alice Smith sits in front of her computer, about to write. Suddenly, her computer freezes. She can’t think. A pain shoots through her brain — a writing blockage immobilizes her.

The white screen of death gives her the evil eye. Her brain shuts down, as the room spins.

She passes out onto the floor, triggering a right-brain auto responder that alerts the library.

An Emergency Writing Technician (EWT) unit is dispatched to her home and takes her to the library.

Alice’s brainwaves flatline…

Rhymes with flatline: Align, alkyne, blue line, blush wine, bovine, bustline, byline, canine, Einstein . . 

An EWT worker repeatedly zaps her brain.

Damn it! I’m losing her.

Alice slips into darkness. Weightless, her soul rises from her body into a brightening void.

At the end of the void in the biography section of the library, she meets Jack Smith, her great, great, great grandfather, who wrote obituaries for the local newspaper.

It’s time to go back and finish your novel.

But it is so peaceful here. I can finish it here.

It’s supposed to be peaceful. It’s a library. But grouchy old men and women meet here every day for their book club and speak loudly because they are hard of hearing.

I could wear headphones.

It wouldn’t be the same thing. You’d only be writing in theory, not in practice. You must go back.

But I hate my protagonist.

You’ll figure it out.

But it’s hard work.

Bushisms won’t work here. Now be gone!

He turns on the Dyson Soul Sucker 300.

But I voted for John Kerry-ry, ry, ry…

A deafening sound overwhelms her. Her soul is yanked from the bright light in the biography section to the dark void in her brain. Her body jerks. With a gasp, she opens her eyes.


You saved her!


But can you save my novel?

Moral of this story: You can revive your writing if it flatlines.

  • If you’re stuck, take a break and work on something else.
  • If you’re stuck up to your neck in quicksand, call for help – preferably someone with a strong rope and a trusted set of eyes with twenty-plus vision – and have him/her take a look-see.
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APB out on missing muse!

Officer: Description of Muse?

Me:        I’m drawing a blank.

Officer: Height, weight . . .?

Me:        I’ve got nothing.


This is a repost from November 2009; dedicated to Kathy, an extremely talented blogger, the brains behind The Junk Drawer, and author of the recent post “I Lost My Writing Mojo.”

Today is a perfect repost kind of day, as I am suffering from brain fluff, which is similar to toe jam, but nothing like strawberry jam, unless it ends up between your toes.

Just thinking about writing a thoughtful post hurts, as I continue my search for the door jam I misplaced after jamming my toe on the door’s threshold. It’s tough having a low threshold for pain. Just ask Leeuna at My Mind Wandered and her latest post Neener, Neener, Neener – What’s in a name.

Here now the repost … muttering of intelligible words and banging of head against the wall.

Some days that door just won’t open no matter how many times you try to jimmy the lock. You bang on the door, but silence responds with the sound of one hand clapping. Your muse is not there. She has abandoned you and didn’t even have the decency to leave a more detailed note, other than, “No Admittance.”

What’s that all about? You stare at the note for an hour or two, until the words become a Rorschach blur on the door. Stuck is what you are. No muse. No fuse.

Thomas Edison once said, “Genius is one percent inspiration and 99 percent perspiration.” He often added. “I never did anything worth doing by accident, nor did any of my inventions come by accident. They came by work.”

Yet, Thomas Edison was lucky enough to have that one percent inspiration to help him break a sweat. I’m as dry as a community pool in the Sahara desert. At least I won’t have to worry about underarm stains while I wait. I check my cell. No messages. Muses can be so inconsiderate, unaware of the torment they cause when they abandon their inspirational freelance gigs for extended time off. How ironic? They who cause others to break a sweat never sweat themselves.

How often does your muse take time off?

LOL! Didn’t realize the comments reposted, too.

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Merry Christmas! Waxing Poetic.

Snow Cat

White clumps of snow weighing down tree branches.

We’ve got snow here in the northeast and the temperature is in the low twenties, a perfect atmosphere for the Christmas and Holiday celebrations ahead. Whether standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a warm circle of friends, or huddled with family on a couch in front of the television, watching a favorite holiday movie, this is a time for enjoying the company of those who we love and cherish and are thankful to have in our lives every day of the year.

Best wishes for a Happy and Healthy Holiday!

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A scary thought: other sites that have published my writing

Humorous Essays Published at

Mom Bloggers Club – The Accidental Blogger

Unscripted Life via Network for Wives – Dental Royalty and the Gold Crown

In addition my blog post, “Dead Mice Don’t Eat Cheese,” was a top pick in the WOOF Contest at PlotDog.com.

WOOF Contest – Top Picks


Zorlone – “StormA voice to the storm’s awesomely destructive power. This was written in admiration and respect to its might.

Dragon Blogger – “Ghost Whispers” – Poem about ghosts of the past, read aloud by the author.

Jennifer M Scott – “Open BookLosing oneself.


Roy/Angel – “Modern day Cinderella story”An original adaptation of my 11-year old daughter of the Cinderella story.

Lauren Salkin – “Dead Mice Don’t Eat Cheese” – This post is based on a true story. So, what is actually true? The mouse, the cat, and me, of course. I did grab the cat with the mouse in its mouth, tried to shake it from the cat’s mouth, succeeded in doing so, then subsequently stepped on the mouse, killing it.

Brought to you by PlotDog Press with the Serial Suspense Screenplay “Intervention”

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